Sorry for the Wait
by hiyoris-scarf
Summary: Free breadsticks are better in good company. (Rated T for language.)


A/N: Inspired by a tumblr post which this website won't let me link to (ha).

* * *

I began questioning the restaurant's "unlimited breadsticks" policy right around the time the skeptical-looking waitress brought me a third basket.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to order?"

I glanced up from my cell phone screen, where I was busy trying to look engrossed in an online article about El Niño. Or maybe it was the Bermuda Triangle.

"I'm sorry, it's just…I'm sure he'll get here soon. He called me ten minutes ago and said he would be here…"

My words trailed off, the last syllable cracking upward on a note of uncertainty.

The waitress huffed louder than I thought was strictly necessary, then spun around to walk back towards the kitchen, heels clicking loudly on the varnished floor.

I felt myself slipping down under the table, along with what was left of my dignity, as what felt like every head in the building rotated in my direction. I accidentally made eye contact with a sympathetic-looking older couple seated nearby, and forced my expression into a thin smile before attempting to suffocate my humiliation with more breadsticks. I returned to my phone in hopes that reading about the Bermuda Triangle could somehow make _me_ disappear.

" _HEY,_ SORRY FOR BEING SO LATE! YOU WOULD NOT _BELIEVE_ THE TRAFFIC!"

A boisterous voice right in my ear made me jump a foot in the air, and what started out as a scream of panic in my throat came out around the half-chewed bread as more of a choked wheeze.

Next I heard a whisper, as the owner of the bellowing voice leaned over me to claim a breadstick.

"Just play along. Whoever didn't show up is a first-class jerk. Oh—and by the way, my name is Ed."

In recovery from his earsplitting shout, and still trying not to choke to death, I didn't get a chance to look at my new companion before he was sitting opposite me at the booth, devouring the breadstick with near inhuman speed.

More crumbs found their way into my windpipe as I sucked in a breath at the sight of my replacement dinner date. He looked me over with some concern, probably worried that he would have to perform the Heimlich in addition to saving me from my solitary shame.

To make things worse, he was a notch above breathtaking. There weren't exactly too many guys who could pull off a long ponytail, but it just… _worked_ on him. And were eyes even supposed to come in that color?

He was talking to me again. Loudly. Shit.

"Have you been here long?"

Downing half my water, I cleared my airway and responded with what I hoped was the correct amount of annoyance:

"Well, yes, actually! I'm not sure I can eat anything more after two and a half baskets of free breadsticks."

He chuckled—a warm, pleasant sound that helped to unclench the knot of anxiety and humiliation that had been steadily constricting my chest for the last hour.

"Well that's too bad! I've been looking forward to this all day."

The heads around us were finally beginning to turn away and resume conversations at their own tables. My small exhale of relief was a cue for the guy named Ed to drop the act a bit. In a lowered tone, but with the same evident good nature, he asked me:

"Not to be insensitive or anything—I mean, this is a date after all—but would you mind telling me your name?"

I managed to force out a reply, now that my trachea was clear:

"It's Winry."

The eyebrows over those inexcusably pretty eyes tilted upward.

"That's a weird name."

To my satisfaction, it was his turn to look disconcerted.

"Uh. And by that, of course, I mean it's…unique. Which is good!"

I laughed, and his expression relaxed.

"Yeah, I guess it is," I replied. "I have lots of good stories about the various Starbucks renditions of it."

He grinned back at me, and it was like being hit by a semi-truck. A blond semi-truck made of blindingly white teeth, awkward charm, and, based on what I could discern from under his long-sleeved, fitted sweater, probably flawless physique.

Speaking of which, how were _all_ those breadsticks still disappearing? He'd only been here for about five minutes and the majority of them had vanished from the basket.

The waitress returned to our table—most likely after requesting that I be removed from the establishment—and seemed _just_ startled enough to cause me to cackle internally. Recovering herself, she asked if we'd need another basket of breadsticks at the table, or if we were ready to order now. Ed did a convincing job playing the part of a solicitous date, making sure I was ready with my decision before responding in the affirmative. Since I had been deliberating over the menu for what felt like a year, I was extremely prepared. We placed our orders and she left again, but only after looking Ed over with curiosity and me with what I dared to think was a little jealousy.

After she left, I stared at my twiddling thumbs, searching for something to say that wouldn't call to attention the less-than-optimal situation Ed had rescued me from. He cleared his throat, and I looked up at him, still without the slightest clue what to say. At any rate, looking at his face for too long might rob me of any remaining ability to speak English.

He spared me the discomfort of having to thank him for his trouble.

"I was just dropping off an order here, and it was taking a bit longer than usual. I couldn't help but notice that you looked a little tired of waiting."

His smile was apologetic, but not condescending. I appreciated his honesty, and in response my lips turned upwards.

"My phone _was_ running a little low on battery life, I will admit."

It was then that what he had said struck my curiosity.

"Wait, what do you mean dropping off an order?"

Scratching the back of his neck, he craned around to look at the door to the kitchen.

"Oh…I just work at this meat…place."

"Ah, yes, one of those _meat places_. I've heard of them."

"Hey, I could always leave."

"No, no, meat is great."

He laughed at my eager reply.

"It sounds weird to say 'butcher shop' when you're barely five sentences into an acquaintanceship with someone."

"Somehow, I don't think the usual rules apply here."

His gaze warmed my cheeks, and I had to look away again.

"I think you might be right."

The waitress came back with our orders. With food that wasn't breadsticks in front of us, the time seemed to slip by. I was only a little worried that my original date would show up and find me otherwise engaged, but I really shouldn't have bothered. I didn't spare him too much thought, as it was clear he hadn't done the same for me.

Somehow, I ended up telling Ed all about my work at my grandmother's mechanic shop, which led to him pointing out a grease stain on my chin ("I thought it probably wasn't a birthmark but I didn't want to sound rude"), and how I was taking night classes at community college to try and get into medical school ("I just really enjoy picking apart disembodied limbs," I explained around a mouthful of ravioli).

After some time, his phone, which lay facedown on the table through most of the meal, began buzzing insistently. He did a credible job of ignoring it, and although he slid it down onto the seat beside him, I could still hear its muted vibrations at regular intervals throughout the next ten to fifteen minutes.

His face was getting steadily more crimson, and I couldn't help my giggles.

"Are you sure you don't want to check that?"

He glanced nervously at the device beside him, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"Well, it's either my brother or my boss, and I don't really want to deal with either of them at the moment."

"And why's that?"

"Well…I may or may not have skipped out on my shift, leaving my brother Al to cover for me. Which he is _not_ going to appreciate after Izumi is done with him."

I froze with the fork still on its way to my mouth.  
"You can't be serious."

He looked me dead in the eye.

"Winry, I hope you know how much this time has meant to me, because my life very well might be over once I get back there."

"You—you ditched your job to save me from being stood up?"

"Nice of me, wasn't it?"

"You're a _complete idiot!"_

He stared at me, dumbfounded. In the next instant, we both were doubled over in our seats from laughter. The situation was just too ridiculous for either of us to take seriously. I wiped my eyes, waiting for my spasms of mirth to subside before I could glare at him properly.

"Seriously, you _are_. You need to get back to work."

"Can't I enjoy my last few minutes on this good green earth without enduring a lecture?"

"You'll thank me."

He sighed, and threw his napkin on the table next to his now spotless plate.

"Will you at least help plan the funeral?"

"I'll give the damn eulogy if you promise not to dawdle."

He raised a hand to the waitress, and she walked over with the bill.

"I can't wait to hear what you'll say about me. 'He was an idiot in life, but a legend in death. Rest in peace, you beautiful bastard.'"

Outside the restaurant, we stopped on the inside edge of the sidewalk and I turned to face him. Even after our banter, the shyness came back to me with full force. My stare was probably boring holes in the leather of my boots, but I still couldn't lift my head. Somehow, I had to say "goodbye," and "thank you," but the cold weight of disappointment blocked my throat. I didn't want to see him go.

My fingers were shaky as they reached out into the brisk air towards him. I heard my mouth stammer something that was supposed to be a farewell, but I really wasn't altogether sure what actually came out.

His large, warm hand covered mine, and he laughed again—a sound that made me feel like a bonfire was dancing inside my chest. At least I got to hear it one more time before saying goodbye.

"Hey, Winry."

I raised my chin, and those magnetic eyes pulled mine upwards again.

"Would you…I guess…want to do this again? Minus the being-stood-up, skipping work, and hasty improvisational theater bits, of course."

The bonfire spread upwards into my face.

"Yes, I think I would."

That heart-stopping grin.

"Saturday? Same place?"

"Perfect."

My hand, now warm, was gently squeezed.

"Man, am I lucky your date was an asshole."

I slapped his chest lightly with my other hand, but laughed with him at the same time.

"Yeah, I think I was too."

"Goodbye, Winry."

"Bye, Ed."

He was walking the opposite direction before I heard him call back playfully, "Oh, and sorry for the wait!"

Saturday was simply too far away.


End file.
